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The following morning, Elise received a call from Officer Cutler.
She took it on the back porch swing with a cup of coffee in her hand and one of Wayne’s flannels wrapped around her shoulders.
Admittedly, she leaned a little too hard into this other reality.
“Good morning,” she said after Officer Cutler revealed himself. “How are you doing?”
“Just fine, thanks,” he said.
“And the investigation?”
“Still going through all the clues,” he said. “The place was pretty badly burned, and we don’t have a lot to go on.”
“Beyond Alex’s opinion that I was the arsonist, of course,” Elise said.
This made Officer Cutler bite his tongue for a moment. Silence hummed between them.
“I called because there’s a letter here for you,” Officer Cutler said. “I wasn’t sure where you’d ended up and wasn’t sure where to send it along.”
A letter?
Elise took her time to style her hair, line her eyes with eyeliner and mascara, and gloss up her lips before she took the now-familiar route to the police station. When she entered, she found Officer Cutler in the midst of a feast of macaroni and cheese. Apparently, it was left over from a meal he’d cooked his girls the night before.
“I’m a mess right now,” he admitted, dotting his lips with a napkin. “It’s the end of the tourist season, and we just don’t have anything to do anymore. I’m filling my time with carbs.”
“Delicious carbs,” Elise offered.
Officer Cutler splayed his hand across his stomach and blinked up toward the corner of the office. Behind him hung a photograph Elise hadn’t noticed the day before. He and the rest of the police force were celebrating the end of a hot dog eating contest. Ketchup and mustard covered their faces.
“Anyway. You mentioned that you had a letter for me?”
“Right! Right.” Officer Cutler popped up from his chair, turned around, and marched toward the far corner. As he turned, Elise spotted several fairy stickers pressed against the back end of his pant leg.
She considered telling him.
But she didn’t want to ruin the joke for the girls.
“Here we are,” Officer Cutler said. He dropped the letter in front of her.
“Fancy envelope,” Elise breathed, and then she lifted it. The envelope was made of something like parchment, like a mix between paper and linen. It had been closed with a wax seal.
“Yeah, well. He likes to do things a little bit fancier around here. It’s just his way,” Officer Cutler added absently.
“Whose way?”
“Dean Swartz’s.”
Elise’s throat closed up. She turned the envelope to read her name written out in what looked like professional penmanship. Elise. Did he know? Had Alex told him what she was up to?
“I’m sure he just feels guilty about the fire,” Officer Cutler said. “He’s a busy man, but he’s never too busy to add a personal touch.”
“Thank you,” Elise said as she stood. The letter shook in her quivering hands. “And let me know again if there’s anything I can do for the investigation.”
“Of course.” Officer Cutler stabbed his fork again into his macaroni, chewed contemplatively, and then added, “By the way, I know about the stickers on my pants. They don’t think I know, but I do. You’re the only person I’ll see today, so you get the full show. When I get home, they’ll each collapse on the ground with giggles. It’s the best part of my day.”
Elise gave Officer Cutler a genuine smile.
“You’re a good dad,” she said. “Much better than my ex-husband ever was.”
Officer Cutler shrugged. “It’s the greatest privilege in the world.”
Elise walked out of the police station with this in mind.
The greatest privilege in the world.
Sean had never said anything like that.
For most of her babies’ early lives, it had just been Elise and Allison. Sometimes, her mother had teased that she was their daddy. “We live in a land of women,” her mother had cooed to them. “We don’t need that whole other half. Except for you, Bradley. We need you.”
Elise walked in a daydream toward the docks. She sat on a bench and gazed out across the water, holding the letter in her hand. She had the strangest fear that the wind would take it and force it out across the waves. She imagined jumping in after it, swimming as fast as she could to retrieve it, then struggling to read the wet and ink-smeared pages.
This was the first contact she’d ever received from her father.
Elise used one of her hair clips to tear through the thick envelope.
She took a deep breath as she unfolded it.
Elise,
It has come to my attention that you were the only guest at my bed and breakfast, Willow Grove, at the time of its tragedy.
I’m so grateful that you are all right and that no one else was injured.
I must apologize that I’m only writing this letter now. For some reason, the fire itself was only reported to me last evening. Otherwise, I would have jumped into action much more quickly.
I’d like to invite you for dinner at my home as an apology.
I’d also like to give you keys to another of my bed and breakfast rentals, where you can stay as long as you want at no charge.
I hope you are enjoying our beautiful little island. It has such charm to it. A magic I’ve never been able to resist.
My home is located near the Pontiac Trail Head, the big white one—number 67. You can’t miss it.
I’ll be waiting for you at seven.
If you choose not to come, if you choose to leave the island, if your plans take you elsewhere, then I wish you well. Please get in contact with me through Officer Cutler to ensure that you receive some sort of payment for your troubles.
Yours,
Dean Swartz
Elise reread the letter three times before folding it back up and slipping it into the envelope.
It was only noon.
She had seven hours until she met her father for the first time.
She’d already waited her entire life.
She supposed another seven hours wouldn’t hurt.